


Monday Already?

by Lunaraen



Category: MCSM, Minecraft Story Mode
Genre: Anxiety, Old Writing, Potions, Sleep Deprivation, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25960570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunaraen/pseuds/Lunaraen
Summary: Since Jesse's left Beacontown in Radar and Lukas's hands while she adventures with Petra, they've been handling things well. Radar's really getting the hang of being more than an intern, though he might not be as ready as he thinks he is to take it all on his shoulders when Lukas has to leave for some Portal Network diplomacy.It's a blessing in disguise, even if it doesn't feel like one, when Ivor catches on.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Monday Already?

Some people live to breathe in flowing seas of anxiety, gasping for relief that never comes, to feel the pressure of what has been and what might be and, worst, what might never happen pushing down on them, to run on the burning coals of deadlines and expectations and the fear of having so much to do while being surrounded by people who care so much. Radar is one of these people.

He's also a teensy bit sleep deprived, not that he really cares about that, and it makes him a little poetic and reflective. Probably a little too much.

Radar may as well be best friends with his stress, because it's something that's been with him for nearly all of his life, especially recently. He might not be able to rely on his body to last as long as he would like without food, or water, or sleep, but the stress will always be there and will always push him to do everything and anything.

It's a constant borne of his anxiety, or one that conveniently arrived alongside it and decided to stay forever, and it pushes him to do things every other part of his body screams at him to not do or to push off for the sake of basic care.

(The issue here is that he knows Jesse felt the same pressures, because Radar was brought on to alleviate all of them and also dragged Jesse away from work to have her actually take care of herself multiple times. It's harder to do with himself, especially because Jesse's everything he is and more.

It's easier for Radar to tell Jesse she deserves a break than it is for him to think the same of himself. His job was to worry for her, but worrying for himself seems to just add to his workload.)

Not that Radar would neglect visible items of basic care, like showers or laundry or combing his hair, because his stress likes to scream at him about those things at odd hours of the day and he knows hygiene is extremely important, especially if being neat makes it so people don't worry about him.

And if he looks overall neat while maybe a little disheveled on a personal level, well, he's a leader. They do that.

Radar's fairly certain he looks the right amount of leader busy without looking like he's running on no sleep and little food, but it's also a good thing that he's fairly certain no one else can see him as he walks down the hall, arms full of way too much paperwork.

He's also walking by a giant, gorgeous window, but it's high enough up that he gets to see far more of the outside world than they do him.

Like all the houses safely within the walls, all the colorful, winding buildings and busy roads filled with milling, busy people. Busy people all under his protection, along with their homes, their jobs, their friends, their animals, and everything else they care about.

So every one of them's counting on him, at least a little, to not only do his best but the best they expect and more.

If this is what Jesse saw all the time, it explains a lot.

And makes Radar acutely aware of how much nicer running away on adventures with an awesome pirate girlfriend would be than having to deal with any more of this.

For all of Jesse's accomplishments, none make him more jealous.

Except that he'd need an awesome pirate girlfriend to do the same, or a girlfriend at all because that sort of break just sounds nice in general, never mind how nice a break in general sounds right now, and Radar finds himself counting the people walking by because if he doesn't figure out how to both ground and distract himself he's going to lose his mind.

While he's counting people walking by and trying to figure out how in the world he's going to find himself a conveniently awesome pirate friend to save him, though, he's not paying the best attention to what or who's ahead of him.

This is a problem because he's still walking and still trying to physically balance his workload.

(Mentally balancing it hasn't worked out near as well for him so far.)

Slamming into another walking person helps get his attention, and Radar can't help but be relieved that the towering pile of work stays in his hands even as his fingers twitch, curling tighter around the pile as his shoulders hunch.

His glasses nearly slide off of where they'd been precariously sitting at the edge of his nose, and it gives Radar one more thing to take care of as he tries to compose himself.

“Jack, I didn't...” Radar's apology, while well-crafted to be the right amount of nervous to show that he really is sorry without showing just how stressed he is, falls slightly short as he realizes he's never seen Jack carrying so many vials, and that the reason for that might be because it's Ivor who's holding the thankfully corked, glowing potions. “Oh. I-Ivor. Ivor, not... I'm sorry. I didn't see you there.”

Well, that could've ended poorly.

Radar glances past the still swaying papers and files and down at the ground by their feet. The carpet seems entirely untouched, in the sense that neither of them dropped anything and that no part of it seems to be smoking or burned.

His shoulders relax, and he's sure his smile is one of his better ones if only because of that, at least until he sees Ivor's frown as he looks back up. He's not uneasy so much as confused, but there's something sharp, something critical, to Ivor's gaze that has Radar swallow whatever other apologies he was going to give.

“...when's the last time you slept?”

“Oh.” Radar blinks, attempting to push his glasses back up before realizing they're already as close to his face as they can be without the bridge uncomfortably digging into his nose. “Oh, um... Monday, I think.”

Ivor's gaze goes from harboring something sharp underneath to being nothing but sharp, intense as his voice gets closer to an exasperated growl.

As it turns out, Radar’s made a tiny error in being honest.

“It _is_ Monday.”

Radar thinks he can understand why he mistook Ivor for Jack at first, beyond that Jack's been helping out around the temple a lot too and that Radar appreciates both of their guidance.

He and Ivor have similar expressions when they're concerned or suspicious, and it sparks an identical form of guilt. That look, the one Ivor has right now, is made of the same sort of worry that's coupled with too much cunning aimed at someone who should maybe be dead at this point.

“Already?” Something beyond stress begins to shriek at Radar as Ivor's eyes narrow. He thinks it might be self-preservation. “I mean still? Boy, it's been a long day.”

The smile he gives is big and sloppy and not at all genuine looking, but Radar's also carrying a stack of paperwork and has an awful lot to get to.

Most people would probably excuse a weak smile for that, but Ivor doesn't seem the type.

“It's not even noon.” Radar bites back a yelp as Ivor takes a small step closer, head held high, eyes narrowed, and shoulders set. “ _Please_ tell me you haven't somehow been awake for an entire week.”

“...no?” Oh, he's so dead. “Does passing out for a couple of minutes count as sleep?”

Rationally, Radar knows Ivor likes jokes, and he's heard Ivor make a couple of his own. Rationally, however, he also knows that Ivor scowling as his posture goes rigid means he's not amused and may mean that Radar should be a little more concerned for his own wellbeing.

“Do you have any meetings?”

As someone who's been carefully constructing nearly every part of his existence lately, from his appearance to his words, Radar recognizes the pause before the questions as the warning that it is.

These words aren't cold, or even sharp, but they're measured and unnaturally even in a way Ivor's almost never used with him before.

It makes them their own kind of scary.

It's an uncommon reminder too that Ivor has been many people before this, long before Radar met him, and that one of those people nearly brought the world to an end.

“Not really. I just need to finish putting away and sending off all these papers.”

“Good. My lab.” Radar doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t immediately agree either and that seems to sit about as well with Ivor. “Now.”

Radar's position as the Hero in Residence of Beacontown, or overworked glorified mayor, means he probably doesn't have to listen. Ivor’s more of a friend and someone he deeply respects, but still someone he can ignore.

Not that he wants to push the Order’s healer to force him on medical leave or kill him.

His stress might wail about lost time and wasted opportunities as Radar follows right beside Ivor, but the desire to live politely tells it to shut up, sending it to instead slowly hunch Radar's shoulders as they move onto what might be his doom.

The trip to Ivor’s lab is as swift as it can be without Radar having papers blow or slip away on him, though that point seems mostly moot as Ivor sets his potions down, grabs the stack from Radar’s hands without warning, and places it on his own desk as soon as they enter the room.

Radar’s protest that he still needs to have those filed away is killed by the internal reminder that he’d like to walk away from this in one piece, which has seemed to join his stress in bunching his shoulders up.

“I’ll have someone move these to your desk later. Or, if you’d rather, you can do it after you wake up.” Ivor doesn't look up from the bubbling cauldron at the fire as he points to a cot tucked into the corner of the room, the blanket as neatly tucked as it can be onto a cot and the pillow looking fluffy in a way that's far too tempting.

Ivor’s lab is large, every polished counter lined with some sort of cage, or case, or selection of glowing vials.

A few even hold odd plants Radar’s never seen before, even though he knows he was in here a few days ago. They’re as varied in color and size as the number of content specimens, the cot beside and below a particularly gnarled, leafy plant that he hopes won’t strangle him as he sits down.

It’s hardly the first time Radar’s been here, even in a week, and still he finds it hard not to stop and stare.

The glow of potions mixes surprisingly well with the glow of the fireplace, the latter dimmed somewhat by the slowly smoking cauldron, the inky mixture inside tinged purple and almost seeming to shine as it swirls about.

Radar's eyelids already feel heavier and while this is his fault, he can't help but feel a little betrayed by his own exhausted body.

Ivor seems to take the pause to mean something different.

“You may take the bed, if you prefer, but I have work to attend to and as I _clearly_ can't trust you to get the sleep you need on your own, you'll be staying where you can rest and I can keep an eye on you.”

Radar’s grateful that Ivor takes breaks from attempting to get the past Order members together for adventures, and even more so that he takes the breaks here and decides to still care about someone like Radar when he’s probably exhausted and wishing he was adventuring with Harper instead. Or sleeping. They’re both experts at each.

He could never forget how amazing this all is, or how lucky Radar himself has been.

The thing with Radar is that it almost feels like he's been handed the world's best set of hand-me-downs, where said hand-me-downs are entirely aware of the serious overall downgrade. Jesse's friends are his friends, which is incredible given that many of them have been his idols for nearly as long as he's been around, and while they're all wonderfully nice and funny and understanding, he can't help but wonder how they feel.

They all like Jesse getting a break, but that doesn't change that Radar's hardly a good replacement for Jesse. Being a leader is one thing, and he think he's honestly doing alright, even if it means he hasn't been eating more than the occasional snack bar or sleeping at all, but Jesse's an even better friend.

And Radar isn't exactly Jesse. He has the stress down, and the desire to help people, but doesn't have the experience or a wide network of friends made firsthand.

Even the friends he made while adventuring with Jesse are still at least partly Jesse's friends, if not more so hers than his.

That feels ungrateful too.

He wants to prove himself, but it hardly feels like an accomplishment, to have driven himself to the brink while Lukas is out of town dealing with basic but important portal network diplomacy. It doesn’t say good things about his reliability or independence.

His awareness is also lacking, seeing as how it takes Ivor all but shoving a cold bottle into his hands for him to realize he’s standing there.

The frosty, pitch black potion is familiar in a way the sparkly sludge in the cauldron isn’t, but Ivor takes care to still explain at length what getting it means as Radar uncorks it.

(The cork nearly falls to the ground, but it doesn’t and by the gods that shouldn’t be an accomplishment.)

“This is not a safety net. It is a last resort that I hope you'll never have to use again.” It’s a sleeping potion, one of Ivor’s more basic, and it’s been a while since Radar’s heard Ivor talk about one so seriously. “It's one I hope I never have to force you to use again and one I'm sure you'll never push yourself to having to use ever again. You may sleep here whenever you want, but you may not allow yourself to rely on this again.”

He knows plenty about potion dependencies, from the overall warning of _don't_ and common horror stories involving the friend of a friend of a friend's friend who ruined their life to actual experience with potion use and the rush they tend to give people. Even just as a guaranteed, Radar can understand the appeal of being able to instantly fall asleep or even not need sleep with the use of only one tiny vial.

It was a struggle sometimes to not use them to help Jesse actually rest, and Radar can also understand the concern.

(There's a big difference too, between Ivor spiking the hot chocolate he makes with sleeping potions after long days so the others will sleep well and Radar drinking a sterile, carefully contained, pure dose of potion. The need to do it to rest not because of nightmares but because of stress and stupidity probably also changes things a bit, and no matter the reason Radar does appreciate the warning.)

“Ivor, I've used potions before. You can trust me.” Ivor takes the smile and meant to be more encouraging than they are words the way Radar takes cough medicine, and Ivor’s grimaces are far more impressive.

“Frankly, I'm not sure I do.”

Radar wishes he was good enough to not flinch at the fair criticism, but he's drawing in on himself before he can even try to correct it, arms wrapped around his middle as he tries not to feel horribly sick. There's a moment's pause before Ivor sighs, resting a hand on Radar's shoulder.

“That was... poorly worded. I trust you as a leader and as a competent individual, but I'm concerned for your health. Such little sleep under such pressure isn't healthy, and I can't imagine you've been doing a much better job with eating. Your body will start hurting you if you don't eat, and if you're injured... I don't want to risk it. A healing potion does a dead person no good.”

Radar isn't sure what to say to that, so he doesn't. His head stays low and he tries his best not to breathe too deep or too quickly as his eyes burn.

He hates drowning in silences of his own making.

Ivor squeezes his shoulder gently before letting go, his voice softer as he crouches to look Radar in the eye.

“You're intelligent, compassionate, and as dependable a leader as Jesse. You're also your own person, with your own needs.” Ivor lightly prods his chest, Radar nearly swaying at the unexpected poke. “Like the need to sleep. Or eat. Don't do this again, and don't you dare take that to mean 'don't let me catch you again'. For your sake and mine, take care of yourself, or I swear there will be repercussions.”

“I will, I promise.” Ivor huffs, but Radar raising his hands in defeat gets a smile out of him. There’s a nod that means for his own good he’d better mean it before Ivor turns back to whatever he’s working on this time. “Good night, Ivor.”

The potion goes down quickly, icy to the taste and making the world feel a little bit lighter while his body feels almost too heavy with sleep it hasn’t yet gotten to move. Still, Radar corks the bottle and sets it down gently under the cot, because broken glass and spilled potions are never fun.

Then Radar settles himself under the blankets as he lies down, and what happens after that is either an immediate fall to sleep or the ungraceful crashing of his head onto the pillow.

Both work fine, and the tug to finally sleep is aided well by the soft chittering of secure creatures, the bubbling of elixirs, and the knowledge that Ivor would probably bite the head off of anyone who’d want to force Radar awake to work more, Radar included.


End file.
